


Heavy Brushstrokes

by NaughtyBees



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Bets & Wagers, But he's so appreciated, Embarrassment, Fluff, M/M, Nude Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyBees/pseuds/NaughtyBees
Summary: After losing a bet with Albert Mason, Arthur has to do a favour for Charles Châtenay that leaves him more than a little flustered.
Relationships: Albert Mason & Arthur Morgan, Albert Mason/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	Heavy Brushstrokes

**Author's Note:**

> this was just an excuse to throw complements at Arthur and force him to listen to them

"Always assume your gun is loaded. That means not leaving your finger on the trigger if you're not shooting." Arthur said as he positioned Albert's hands on the rifle. "Handgrip in your trigger hand, the other supporting the stock, that's it."

Albert gave Arthur a melancholy pout. "I haven't even touched a gun before, I really don't know ab--"

"Al. Imagine some ornery weasel comes at you and I'm not there. You need to at least learn, even if you never use the skill."

Sighing heavily, the photographer looked at the tin cans lined up on the rock, eyebrows knitted. "I suppose, as my grandmother said, it's better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it."

Arthur nodded, stepping behind Albert. "Exactly. Now…" He encircled him with his arms, nudging his feet apart with his boots. "There we go… Now, head down a bit, look down the sights. Don't brace your shoulder like that, you'll break your collarbone."

Stepping away, Arthur smiled. "Now, fire on your exhale, but don't hold your breath. And don't yank the trigger, firm but not a jerk."

Albert took a deep breath, exhaled, and nearly jumped clean out of his skin when the shot rang out, entirely missing the rock and cans, the bullet sticking in a tree.  
"Blast!" Albert sighed. His second, third, fourth and fifth shots missed entirely, and he hummed at the click of an empty chamber.

"Reload how I showed you."

"O-Oh, yes, of course." Albert winced as he loaded it, taking another few shots and missing each one, even with the tips Arthur was giving him.

Arthur sighed heavily. "Jeez, you're bad at this. I mean, really bad."

Frowning at him, Albert gave him a soft shove. "You've had years! This is my first day!"

"Well, I could get at least one out of five shots when I was fifteen." Arthur took off his hat to wipe his forehead. "Here I was expecting to be able to get you to bag a rabbit for our dinner."

"I couldn't kill anything…" Albert looked to his feet.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, I bet you couldn't."

Suddenly perking up, Albert looked at Arthur with an expression that Arthur did not like. "...you want a wager?"

"Will that motivate you?" Arthur asked, giving him a lopsided grin. "Okay, I bet you can't kill a rabbit, and if you lose, you have to… let me turn that white ram into some fashionable clothes."

"And if I do get one, you have to help me do a favour for a friend."

Arthur trusted Albert enough not to ask for specifics, and they shook on it. Albert grabbed the cover scent lotion when it was offered and smeared it on himself, reloading his rifle. "Right. Here I go."

**oOo**

"I can't believe it."

"I know!"

"I mean, I _cannot_ believe it. You couldn't even shoot a tin can!"

"Well, I was aiming for one rabbit, and another one ran right into my missed shot."

Arthur sighed and shrugged, taking the rabbit and preparing it for dinner. "So…Who is this friend? You got us moving something or fetching something?"

Albert could barely keep a straight face as he sat beside Arthur, polishing the rifle with a satisfied smirk. "He's an artist, Charles Châtenay."

"Oh, you know Charles too?" He raised a brow. "What are we doing for him? Protecting him from more people he's pissed off?"

Albert shook his head. "Nothing like that. He just needs some help with his work. Like how you help me, I suppose!"

That didn't sound too bad… Arthur passed Albert a rabbit haunch, and they ate in comfortable silence as Arthur wondered what he'd be doing for Châtenay.

The next morning, the pair hitched their horses outside an apartment complex, the sunlight on the flowers and the fountain making Arthur smile a little as they made their way up the stairs. He may not have liked Saint Denis, but the charms of the little courtyards always stirred something in him.

Albert seemed jittery as he walked into Charles's studio, the door being ajar. It was almost as chaotic as Albert's workspace, although instead of camera parts and photographs, it was oil paints and canvases. "Monsieur Châtenay? _Êtes-vous ici?_ "

Arthur blinked. "You speak French?"

"Mhm. French, Italian, smattering of German too." He looked around, seeing a snoring lump on the sofa, covered in newspapers and surrounded by empty bottles. "Monsieur Châtenay?"

The mound of newspaper shifted as the painter peered out at them with the telltale grimace of a hangover. "Aha! Monsieur Mason! _Vous avez réussi à le convaincre?_ "

"Ehh… _Sorte de_ …" He looked at Arthur, who was looking at the portraits of naked women with a bored expression. "Arthur, about this favour…"

"Yeah, what we doin'?" He asked, tearing his eyes away from the closest painting. "You got us shiftin' some of these?"

"Oh, non, mon ami!" Charles stood up and grabbed a cold cup of coffee with a cigarette butt floating in it, gulping it down and spitting the dimp across the room. "I am wanting to study the male form, and Albert told me you were a spectacle beneath those dirty clothes."

Arthur looked at the pair with a dark expression. "...No."

"So take off your pantalon and hop up on the bed." Charles said with a flourish, patting the mattress.

"No!" Arthur folded his arms, his cheeks beginning to heat up. "I'm not posing nude."

Albert pouted. "Arthur, you lost the bet! You said you'd help!"

Charles laid some red satin on the bed, fluffing the pillows. "You may cover your delicates if you wish, but the beauty of the human form should be celebrated!" He cried, grinning. "If it will help, I can pay you for your efforts!"

Arthur sighed as heavily as he ever had in his life and closed his eyes, pinching the brow of his nose. "...Alright! Okay… But close the curtains and lock the door. And you don't make it look like me! Don't want anyone seein' it."

"Ah, do not despair, my friend!" Charles grinned as he lit a cigarette, beginning to prime his canvas. "All shall be perfect!"

He hated this. He hated Charles. He didn't hate Albert as much as he thought he should. But most of all, he hated the view he had of himself in the mirror. Who would want to paint this? Some ugly bastard with scars and blemishes… He used his shirt to cover himself as he walked back into the room, seeing Albert happily sat just behind Charles, the pair chatting in French.  
"Pair o' bastards." Arthur growled as he climbed onto the bed.

"Oh, Monsieur Mason, you were right!" Charles grinned. "What a feast for the eyes! Please, lay yourself down in a comfortable position. Chest and face toward me, hips at whatever angle you wish."

Laying down, Arthur propped himself up on his elbow, swapping out the modesty shirt for a pillow as he bent one of his knees, glaring daggers at the pair of them. "Can't believe I'm doing this…"

"Good thing you keep your word, my love!" Albert smiled over his cup of tea, eyes locked on him.

As Charles flung paint onto the canvas with wild brushstrokes, he laughed to himself. "Oh, what a figure! Impressively robust! You would not get that kind of silhouette from any of the morons that inhabit this city."

"Like us?" Albert was right, both of them were rather lithe compared to Arthur.

The outlaw was bright red as Charles kept talking. "The shape of your muscle structure is exquisite! Like the chiseled body of David himself! Yes, the female form is wonderful, the soft curves perfectly constructed, but this…" He gave a wild gesture, splattering paint onto the floor. "Oh, it is like seeing Adam, the stark shape of masculinity amongst the filth of nature! A landscape of manliness in which one could get lost!"

"Please stop." Arthur grumbled, trying to rub away his blush with his palms.

Albert shook his head. "Let the man speak, Arthur. He's working." Stroking his beard a little, he gestured to the canvas. "I told you, Charles. I told you I'd bring you someone rugged. It will steer you away from developing a rut with your usual subjects."

"I could cut myself on that jaw!" Charles grinned. "What broad shoulders. I shall need more paint, I think!"

Albert smirked into his tea. "You'd need a lot more were it not for the pillow, trust me."

"Look!" Arthur shouted, startling all three of them. "Please stop talkin' about me like I'm some perfect gorgeous model, because I ain't, I'm just here because I lost a bet." Arthur grunted through his teeth, his stomach twisting with bashfulness. One or two complements could be batted away, but an endless stream of them was too overwhelming. "Just get on with it."

Swapping brushes, Charles smirked to himself. "Oui, Monsieur Morgan! I am sorry! You are more than just a model! You are a muse! A powerful force!" He put his brush between his teeth to pour himself some wine, keeping it in his free hand as he continued. "Tell me, how many times has Arthur rescued you, my friend?"

"From life threatening situations? Four. Rescued me from inconveniences? Oh, too many to count." He grinned over at Arthur, who was so red that Albert almost wanted to rush over and fuss him. "What about you, Mr Châtenay?"

"Oh, he has saved my skin too many times! From stabbings and beatings and sobriety! But, what would you expect, huh? A chest that wide must be housing a very large and full heart, non?" Charles took a gulp of wine as he looked back at Arthur. "Please take your head out of your hands, I am trying to paint you!"

Arthur rubbed his forehead with his fingers, unable to move with both rage and embarrassment. Were he a little sharper, he might have wagered that this was Albert's plan all along. But all he could do was look back up at them, gritting his teeth. Kind words he could handle, were they thrown his way. But being entirely nude, stared at by two men, and then showered with verbal love like were a painting in the Louvre? It made his entire being burn.

"Last Sunday when I went to church, the one around the corner, I heard a few stories passed around about a certain helpful man." Albert made eye contact with the blushing outlaw, and his smile seemed a little more pointed. Oh, he was doing this on purpose. "Have you ever spoken to Sister Calderón? Oh, I don't suppose you're a churchgoer, are you?"

"Well, I did once get some soup there after I pissed in the holy water." Charles said nonchalantly as he stepped back a pace to look between his work and Arthur.

Albert made a face and a mental note not to touch the font again. "Well, it's not just us that Mr Morgan has helped. The list is longer than the Lannahechee. Goodness radiates from him like warmth from the sun."

Arthur grit his teeth, betting that his face was redder than the crimson satin. "Please--"

Charles sighed. "Monsieur Morgan, I have quite the fetching black lace gag in the other room if you would like to model it for me. If not, please, let me work!"

This was hell. It was actual hell. Being the centre of attention, and so brazenly appreciated. He'd rather give Micah a sponge bath. Oh, bad thought. That would keep him from eating for a while.

"The contrasting colours, warm light, and use of negative space is wonderful." Albert said after a while. "It makes his figure seem very prominent. I must say, I do see a lot of similarities between our professions."

"But of course! Your inclination is to capture the true grace of nature, a single beautiful vision of the world." Charles chained his sixth cigarette from his fifth and flicked the end of it out of the window. "And I shit in my hand, wipe it on canvas, and call it a masterpiece."

Albert couldn't help but smile. "Don't sell yourself short. This is wonderful. Almost captures how perfect the subject is."

Charles opened another box of paint, mixing the right hue with three different bottles. "Have you taken many photographs of him?"

Nodding, Albert poured himself another cup of tea. "Oh, yes. All secreted away, of course. Just for me." He met Arthur's furious glare with a sweet smile. "Though I expect they would cause people to gather in droves to see them."

"I know I would, mon ami!"

Arthur growled. "I swear to God, I'm going to puncture both of your lungs."

Charles laughed with a dismissive wave. "We are almost done. Soon you shall be rid of me, Monsieur."

Albert walked over to Arthur and leant down toward him, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead that made him feel a mix of affection and annoyance. "Thank you for doing this."

"Wish I'd left you to the wolves." Arthur snarled, before his face softened slightly. "I don't mean that…"

"I know." Albert gave him another kiss, this time on his cheek, then walked back to check on the painting.

"Hm. A little bit of… And one last…" Charles mumbled, before taking out a thin brush and signing his name in the corner. "Voila! She is complete!"

Albert grinned at the painting, and Arthur almost stood up to look himself before he realised he was still naked. Strange, the compliments had made him more uncomfortable than his nudity. Huffing, he pulled on his jeans and draped his shirt over his shoulders, padding over to look at the artwork.

The figure was him, an uncanny likeness, down to his complex eyes and his gruff demeanour. The colours were lustrous, the juxtaposition and composition making him almost forget how angry he was. He could almost see what they were talking about, the affection placed upon him almost leaping from the canvas. Truthfully, the painting was incredible. He only wished it was of someone else.  
"Hm. Pretty good. Considering…" Arthur muttered. "Now, you gonna burn it?"

Charles shook his head. "Burn? Non! I intend to sell this masterpiece!"

Eyes boggling as panic struck him, Arthur gaped for words. "Wh- Why w-- sell?! _Who would buy this_?!"

Albert cleared his throat as he opened his wallet, passing Charles quite the stack of bills. Arthur looked between the pair of them, clenching his fists. "Was… Was this a commission?"

"If I'd have told you, you'd never have come!" Albert seemed very pleased with himself. "Besides, look at this! Oh, when we live in a big house in the West, this shall adorn our mantelpiece."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and grit his teeth. "Yer lucky I love you so much, or I'd put your head through the canvas."

Charles handed Arthur $20, as promised, and looked to Albert. "As soon as the paint is dry, I shall have it delivered to you! And thank you again, it has been a delight painting your cowboy."

"As it should be. For there is none finer than my own Arthur Morgan. None at all." Albert mused with a curled smile, and Arthur hung his head, trying to keep himself from admitting that the day had ended up being quite a good one for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! :)


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